Cynan was mad. Especially mad at that Shadow Knight; who had promised him money for capturing that Samurai, but when he did, did he pay him? No! And now he was forced to chase after the Samurai when he escaped.

Cynan looked behind him at the ten Shadow Knight trackers who were traveling with him. They were all good trackers, and good fighters, and Cynan knew he had no chance of escaping or fighting his way out. Nope, he dug himself in a ditch this time.

Hey! Maybe I could get them to fall in a ditch! Thought Cynan. No their not fools, it’d never work.

Cynan and the Shadow Knights ran on for some time. When the finally stopped at a small stream. As he quickly looked around at his surroundings, he spotted a small cave of some sort. Suddenly, an idea popped into his head; one that just might work.

He turned to the Shadow Knights and drew his sword. The Shadows drew their swords in respond; ready for attack, though not really inspecting one.

Cynan looked at the Knights Kingdomer sword in his hand, he had never really gotten used to it. But now was not the time for that.

“It’s now or never.” Said Cynan to himself, than raised his sword and leaped at the Shadow Knights.

Well, Caimlin couldn't really help it. He had gone as fast as he could, and now he was nearing the half-way point on his mission: buying three new triremes. After that, it was on to Anka Dolour.

M-13
Caimlin paced back and forth on the deck of the head trireme, looking ahead and turning his face now and then to the refreshing breeze from the south. They weren’t extremely large vessels, but they would do. Three ships with three oars on each side and six benches for his men sit on while they rowed. This was about all they could do really, not having gained the experience that Caimlin had during his stay on the island province. As such, Caimlin was obliged to hire a crew to employ the finer points of seafaring. This depleted his gold of course, which was held on the other two ships, but he was confidant that he would have enough to purchase the slaves.

Overall he was pleased. It seemed that this part of the journey would be quite uneventful. But in that Caimlin was wrong, and the events began with a whirring sensation in his head. Someone was sending him a tellaharm.

Theodore and Valric were sitting in one of the castle gardens, watching the flowers grow.

"Theodore, I am so bored." Commented Valric. "Here we are watching the flowers grow. I am thinking that the war shouldn't have ended so soon."

"I gotta admit that it is boring, but I don't want the war back," replied Theodore. "What we need is a bandit attack or something."

At just that moment a servant walked up. "Sir," he said. "A messenger just arrived from Arral, a small hamlet a couple days journey south from here. He says an attack happened during the night and several people were killed. He believes that it was bandits. Seeing as the king is extremely busy at the moment, I thought maybe you could help him. That is unless you are too busy?"

"Not at all," responded the knight/general. "Please bring him here."

After listen to the messenger, who claimed that several bloody deaths had occurred on the same night, Theodore sent him away telling him that he would do what he could right away.

When the man left, Theodore turned to Valric. "Sounds like either a bandit attack or a group of terrorists. Either way, I think I will take a dozen men and check it out. Want to come?"

"You bet. The only thing to do here is to watch flowers grow." Valric looked at the flowers. "And it gets boring pretty quick."

A couple hours later, the two knights and a dozen men set off for Arral.

***************

Two days later, the small company reached the hamlet. The populace was all in great fear and nobody would come out and talk.

After scouting around for a bit, one soldier noticed several tracks leading to and from an abandoned house on the outskirts of town.

The group went to investigate. Theodore and Valric, backed by the men were just walking up the grassed over front walk, when the door burst open and there stood Weigraf.

Robin Hood wrote:The prints led into a side street. In the middle of it was the purse; the man apparently didn’t want it. As Aiden reached to pick it up, a voice spoke from the shadows.

“Stand up and gimme your valuables or I’ll kill yer.

Grid: N-10
Location: Porte Poisson’s dark alley.

Aiden slowly rose, his wallet in his hand, and turned to face the speaker. It was the man that had robbed him. He was holding a loaded crossbow, which was pointed right at his chest. Behind him were five other men with crossbows, which were also loaded.

"Now," said Aiden. "I'll tell you this once. Put your crossbows away and leave us be, or you will sorely regret it."

"oh yeah?" said the leader. "You and whoot army?"

"This one!" shouted Aiden. He then threw himself to the ground and drew one of his two rapiers. Kae-Os, who had remained silent and still for all the talk, suddenly whipped out his spear and threw it. The weapon flew out of his hand and hit one of the men's crossbows, rendering it inoperative. The elf then unsheathed his sword, leapt in the air, landed beside another man and cut his crossbow in half. All this took less than fifteen seconds.

However, although not very well versed in speech, the bandits were faster with their weapons. As soon as Aiden had moved, two of them had shot their bolts. But by the time they reached the intended area, Aiden was down and Kae-Os was behind him.

The leader, who had the only loaded bow left, swirled around and fired at Kae-Os. The elf had, however, already left the area and the bolt hit the ground.

Kae-Os then sheathed his sword and spear and took on the four men with his hands, even though they had all drawn knives.

The leader was about to join in when he felt the tip of Aiden's rapier on his throat. "Just watch, old chap, and believe me, its well worth it," said Aiden.

The two men then proceeded to watch as Kae-Os took all four of the men down without getting a scratch and without to badly injuring the bandits.

When it was all over, the elf calmly walked over the moaning men and faced the leader. "Care for a go?" asked Kae-Os.

"No-n-no." Stuttered the man, "I’m quite f-f-fine."

"Good," replied Aiden. "Have a pleasant day." And with that, the two friends left the alley and went on to the next town.

Ciroal Grimtongue ran as fast as she could. Dodging branches and stumbling over underbrush, she ran in a most un-Wolfpack-like manner. She had good reason for this - two arrows in her left shoulder and one in her right leg had made for considerable bloodloss.

She dared not stop - her trail of blood would be easy enough to follow for even the greenest of Wolfpack trackers. The hunting party after her probably wouldn't be too experienced (most skilled Wolfpack had stayed loyal to Blackcloak), but Ciroal was not in any state to fight a young child armed with a stick, let alone a troop of trained hunters and soldiers.

She just kept on running.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It had started with a whisper from the cell next to her. From a Loyalist, no less. The aged and beaten half-blind tracker had no clue that he was helping the same person who had thrown him into the dark cell.

The old man had slipped a small but sharp knife through a chink in the wall.

"Use it well, young one." he had whispered, "I'm too old to use it now - someone younger has a better chance of escape than me. If you do get out, please remember the name Darroch Wolfhound."

"Uh... Thanks... I will..." a surprised and weary Ciroal whispered.

Her chance to use it came some days later. When the guard opened the cell to give her the daily ritual of beating, she swiftly slit his throat.

Darting over to the cell next to her, she spotted the withered corpse of the old man who had helped her. He had died of his injuries not soon after giving her the knife and his final message. She had no time to mourn him, however, as another guard came down to see why no sounds came from Ciroal's dark cell.

The guard spotted Ciroal, even in the dim light. He managed to utter a strangled cry of surprise before a rather sharp small knife connected with a thud to his rather hard skull. Ciroal ran over to the corpse and yanked it out of the man's head. Then she began her long and dangerous ascent through the layers of the dungeon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Evidently she had survived, but for how long would be anyone's question. She had been shot at countless times - luckily only those three arrows had landed. If something didn't happen soon, her short-lived escape would be over. Permanently.

She kept running...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next layer of the dungeon had been rather heavily guarded. The first guard didn't see her coming. She had beheaded him before he could even notice the cold steel at his neck. As she held the bloody head in the air, she felt an almost wolfish bloodlust come upon her. Discarding the head with a mad throw against the wall, she took the dead man's shortsword and began searching for another victim.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She ran, she ran, she ran. The tracking party got ever closer. As she glanced up, she thought she spotted a druid, dressed in something looking like Wolfpack clothing. She blinked, and the mysterious man was gone. A second later, she tripped and stumbled into a hole that she swore had not been there. Then she hit her head on a root and everything went blank.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She must have killed six or seven guards in a similar fashion. After each brutal beheading she craved more. It wasn't until she got reckless that a guard heard her coming. He foolishly not cried out for help, but instead swung his sword in a careless manner at the enraged wolf-like Grimtounge. The sword connected with Ciroal's stolen weapon. Both blaces shattered, and the poor guard stared in astonishment. Ciroal let out a strangeld cry as shattered metal pierced the skin of her arm. Seconds later, Ciroal leaped upon him and began to tear at his flesh. Her teeth tore open his neck and she savored the taste of his hot blood. She tore. And tore. And tore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She came to lying on a cot in a underground hideout characteristic of the forest-dwelling peoples. As her vision cleared, she noticed that her wounds had been dressed and the broken arrow shafts and sword shards removed. As her vision cleared further, she saw three Wolfpack soldiers, with longswords in scabbard, watching her.

"Greetings, Runner." said one, evidently the leader of them, "You chose a strange day to visit our humble home."

The man, despite his air of command and nobility, was positively scruffy in appearence. He wore a standard-issue Wolfpack tunic, but the fabric was torn in so many places that one could easily see his chainmail underneath. His helm was battered and dented in numerous places. His gloves had holes in them.

"Tell us of you - why are you running?" said the leader again.

"I am Dathal Wolfseeker and I a..." she started to say.

"Silence! No more of you lies!" shouted an older man as he entered the room.

This man was dressed in what looked to be the druidic robes of the Forestmen - they would look like them, that is, if the didn't have the fanged wolf ensigna of the Wolfpack emblazoned upon them.

"We know who you are!" shouted the man again, his commanding voice overwhelming in its power.

"I don't know what you mean!" replied Ciroal nervously.

"We are the Resistance of the Three Daggers." stated the leader-type matter-of-factly.

"Your sworn enemies, Ciroal Grimtongue." the older man said grimly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She tore. And tore. And tore.

And then she realized that the guard wasn't struggling anymore. No one had come to his aid - deathscreams were pretty common in the dungeons these days.

Ciroal suddenly had another cold realization - she became aware of the blood dripping down from her mouth and a pugent taste in her mouth. Cold shock washed over her as she wiped her mouth and looked at her hand.

Blood. I just tore a person apart.

Ciroal was shocked. She ran over to a dark corner and threw up.

With her bile came tears. She cried for what she was. She cried for what she had become. She cried for her brother. She cried for her parents. She cried for herself.

"Sir Dractor?" he started. "Good to see you, my friend! Good to see you! Welcome home!"

Sir Dractor and Bjarn, armed with longbows and full quivers, clad in green and brown, had gone hunting in the forest. Well, it was more like a long walk, to catch up on things, but while they were at it, they figured they might as well have a go. It had been Sir Dractor's suggestion: Gonderin had mentioned at dinner that Bjarn had been spending most of his days in his study, energetically scribbling away his memoirs. His loyal elven lieutenant felt that he needed to get out and breathe some fresh air. And what was more typical of a Forestman than a causal walk through the forest?

"A lot has happened in less than two months," said Sir Dractor as they went along, shaking his head. "Reno and Shainya married. I saw it coming, but so fast! I should send them a present... Where did Aros and Luxus go?"

"They pretty much just took off, without any real destination," said Bjarn. "I imagine we'll see them again someday, but who knows when. They both have wanderlust pretty bad- not unlike you."

"I'll admit my feet itch for travel every now and then," said Sir Dractor. "But it's more action that I tend to crave- doing something useful. As a general rule, I don't do that too well in a single location."

"So what do you plan to do now?" asked Bjarn. "You don't intend to go back to your homeland, I take it?"

"No," said Sir Dractor. "I think I'll stay in Dametreos for life. As for the immediate future, I need a new suit of armour. When we get back to the Keep, I should show you what happened to it. It's quite the sight, and it makes you wonder how on earth I survived."

"It can't be repaired, I assume?" asked Bjarn.

"It wouldn't be worthwhile," said Sir Dractor. "It would take more effort than a new suit, and probably wouldn't be as good of quality. That's how bad it was."

"Well, talk to Roderick," said Bjarn, "I'm sure he'll be glad to help you. I'm guessing you also need a new sword as well?"

"Aye," said Sir Dractor, and was about to go on, but he caught sight of a small herd of deer off in the trees, and quickly raised his bow, firing the arrow. It struck one of the deer, which stumbled off. The other deer fled before Bjarn managed to fire at them. Sir Dractor and Bjarn followed the dying deer at a leisurely pace.

"That was a pretty fine shot, my friend," said Bjarn. "And at a considerable distance too. I thought you said that you weren't all that good at archery?

Lord_Of_The_LEGO, on Feb. 5th, wrote:Bjarn nodded, and withdrew his aged and scarred yew bow from it's sling on his back.

"Come, Dractor, let's go see if we can find something..."

"Alright..." the knight stood and brushed snow off his behind, "But why do you need me, Bjarn? I have only mediocre skill with a bow."

"I need your strong back if I actually hit something." smiled Bjarn as he tightened and waxed his bow.

"I remember quite distinctly that you said your skill with a bow was not all that good. Were you lying?"

"No," said Sir Dractor with a smile, "but you weren't looking at it from quite the right angle. I am a master warrior: my skills with sword, lance, axe, mace, spear, and so forth, are about as good as you can get. By comparison, my archery skill is merely good. I have good aim and a quick draw, but I am no better than the average Dark Forester, and not quite up to the average Forestman. Certainly, you are a better shot than me. So, compared with my other skills, my archery talents are mediocre."

"You do yourself an injustice, my friend," said Bjarn, as the reached the dying deer. Sir Dractor bent down to cut its throat. "That was a fine shot, and you'd be accepted into a Forestmen company without a problem, although just barely. You have fine skills in war, my friend; am I right in thinking that it is all you have done?"

As he finished killing the deer, and silently thanking it for its gift, Sir Dractor replied. "All my life I have been a warrior. I have spent my energies on fighting and improving my skills at it. My homeland has been in conflict for years, and there was never an opportunity to do anything else. I displayed aptitude, and learned the skills, and have had ample opportunity to practise. But outside of battle and its related pursuits, I have very little."

"Do you ever wish you had more?" asked Bjarn.

"Yes," said Sir Dractor, thinking about his brother and his family. "I wish I could have done more, could have been more. But the path I chose was necessary, and I don't regret its fruits. Only its failings."

"Well, you are free from that path now," said Bjarn. "You can do whatever you want, be whoever you want."

"All I really know is battle," said Sir Dractor, "and I hate feeling useless. What options do I have?"

"There is no longer a war," said Bjarn. "Perhaps it's time to find another use for those skills. There are always good people in need of defending and saving. From what I have seen of you, my friend, you might be a warrior, and a tyco good one too, but you are no killer."

"I have never wanted to be, but every warrior at times is a killer," said Sir Dractor, rather regretfully. "And that is never really going to change. But perhaps you are right, there are always people in need of help. Perhaps I can find my calling helping people, not hurting them."

"I hope so," said Bjarn, "but I think that you already help people, although hurting others at the same time. Your aid was very important to us during the war, and during the Lost Stars quest, we did little battling, and much helping. And from what you've said, I think that you did a lot of good helping your sorceror friend.

"But let's not worry about this for the moment! You're on holidays, and I intend to see that you enjoy yourself! Besides, I'm going to get you to transport that fine quarry of yours back to the Keep. My old back will be little assistance."

"You're no older than I," said Sir Dractor. "Or not by much."

"Perhaps, but I haven't taken as good of care as myself," said Bjarn. "And I wasn't blessed with your great poundage of muscles. The fates saw fit to give me a more slender build. And I have no intention of throwing out my back so soon after Daner fixed it- and everything else. I want to be whole and spry for many long years yet."

"Don't we all?" said Sir Dractor, heaving the dead beast off the ground. "Let's go straight back to the keep, shall we? I don't particularly feel like detouring with this stinky, heavy weight on my shoulders."

With a laugh, the more wood-wise Bjarn led the way back to Drullen Bell.

Valric blinked. It was him. That thing from the sewers of Orion, here. Weigraf if that was once it’s name looked stronger. It looked at him with horrible glowing eyes, brighter and even more evil the last time.

“Kill it-“ Screamed Valric.

Before his sword was halfway out of it’s scabbard it leapt. The thing slammed into him with bone crunching force. He was sent sprawling on his back. Moving as quick as lightning, Weigraf disembowled one knight and sliced the arm off another.

Theodore and the other knights leapt at it. Weigraf took on three good swordsmen at once. Another knight wih a spear flanked him and one with an axe charged his exposed rear.

Theodore and every other knight with a sword advanced on him. Weigraf blocked and parried all of them.

Soon they found themselves on the defence. The knight with the axe jumpe at him. Weigraf didn’t seem to notice, at the last possible second he whirled around and cut the knight’s legs out from under him. In the same second he turned around to meet the uppercut from Theodore.

Valric growned and stumbled to his feet. Weigraf caught sight of him and growled. He threw a gaunleted punch at a visored knight. The punch shattered the visor and the face. Swearing Theodore swung again, this time it score a small wound across his thigh.

With a sudden spurt of energy Wiegraf swung his glowing black sword in a wide arc. Cutting two men in half.

Leaping out of nowhere, a huge blast of wind magic sent the five flying. Four landed stunned in a nearby field, one hit the side of a barn, his neck bent in the opposite direction.

Theodore glanced around quickly. When that thing whatever it was landed on Valric it did a number on his number his armour. He had only just got to his feet but was sent flying about twenty feet by that spell.

The other knights still on their feet were nowhere to be seen.

Gripping the sword’s hilt tightly Theodore charged. From the beginning he knew he was not going to win. That wound he inflicted would be more then enough to fell a normal minifig. He barly countered all of Weigraf’s attacks. With a growl Valric finally joined in the battle.

Seeing his prey arrive, Weigraf raised his sword at Theodore. “AERO!!!’ A smaller blast of wind sent him flying. He hit a tree hard and slid down and lost conciousness.

Swearing every curse under the sun Valric charged.
Weigraf was even faster this time and Valric did not have his old magic sword to help him. Weigraf lashed out and caught him across the leg. Stumbling Valric was knocked down a by the back of a hand. Spitting out a broken tooth

Valric struggled to his feet as the thing shambled closer, it’s bloody sword raised high.Valric picked up his sword just as Weigraf threw him a killing blow.

Valric knew his sword would’nt hold up against this for long. Then he spotted Theodore’s sword, he took hold of it just in time to block another swing. Valric now attacked with two swords. Weigraf didn’t seem to notice, he had held off half a dozen minutes before.

Sparks flew, Valric used every technique he had ever learned. Sweat poured down his face. Eigraf blocked one sword while the other went under his guard. It sliced into the same wound that Theodore inflicted. Weigraf’s strange acidy black blood fell to the ground, desolving what it touched.

Weigraf cast another wind spell, Valric leapt as far away from the blast as possible. Cursing Weigraf slipped in the mud. Valric swung again, before Weigraf could counter, the blade tore through his knee.

Wiegraf stumbled backwards.
He leaned against an old well for support. He had come to far, shed to much blood to be stopped now. He was almost invincible! Valric pressed the attack for the final time. The two exchanged blows, Valric winced, looking down he saw a great gash in his thigh.

Sputtering he dropped Theodore’s sword. Taking his own, he buried it up to the hilt in Sir Weigraf’s heart. A horrible primeval shriek sounded, clutching his ears in pain, Valric saw something fly out of the holes in Weigraf’s armour.
Valric tore his sword out in case it still had some life left in it.

Then he realized, the blood on the sword was red. Weigraf seemed to shrink to a more normal size. The two red orbs vanished and were replaced were a pair that looked human.

“Good shot…” He gasped. Valric lowered his sword wearily.
“Stop Pythos…….Castle Dracul…..before it’s……too……..late.” Weigraf loosened his grip on the side of the well, the black suit of armour soon vanished in it’s dark depthes.

Valric nodded to a fallen Legolander and limped away to help Theodore…

Formendacil wrote:"But, milord! Where shall you go? Sir Jayson will even now be seeking your head."

"I will go back to Talistrand," said Jayko. "I have friends there, who I might be able to get help from. In time, I will return."

The city of Talistrand had become accustomed to the fact that their darling hero was no longer an eligible bachelor, but, in fact, an engaged bachelor. As a result, Bernard Quorandis found himself only slightly less a matter of various young ladies' misguided affection.

His wedding only two months away, preparations had already begun, and in earnest. Elwen, already married and widowed, would have just as soon had a small, private wedding, and Bernard could personally care less, but there were other matters to be given consideration.

First there was Margaret Quorandis. The countess was not going to have her only son's wedding be anything less than a grand ceremony of state. She found willing allies in most of the city's population: just about everybody wanted a great big celebration, an excuse to get rowdy and celebrate themselves.

"Who is paying for all this?" Bernard asked his father one evening, while Margaret and Elwen were out with the dressmaker, getting her wedding dress.

"You and I, my boy," said Ferdinand Quorandis rather gloomily. "At least, we're paying for the ceremony itself- which is more than expensive enough! Fortunately, Valentius has decided that the dinner and ball are matters of state public relations, and will be funded out of the public purse. Have you any idea how big this is getting?"

"Too big..." said Bernard. "I understand that a basketful of invitations have been sent to Orion and the mainland. Mother is planning on paying for the passage of half a dozen old friends from the Quoran area."

So it was that when Sir Jayko Falconensis returned to Talistrand, looking for aid in regaining his birthright, he found Elwen, Quorandis, and pretty much everyone around them in a bit of a hyper mode, and rather on the busy side.

In fact, the first person that Jayko managed to talk to was Elbadar.

"It's crazy here," said Elbadar. "I'm thinking that I'm going to disappear to Orion as soon as I can book passage, and avoid this city for most of the next two months. I'm a soldier, and I don't even really know Quorandis that well, and even I have been sucked into this mess. Good luck trying to get anything resembling aid out of him! There's no way he'll sanction any sort of military force- that'd be insane so soon after the BloodVaine war. The only battles the Cavaliers will fight for several years will be internal conflicts, or against factions that the rest of Dametreos has condemned."

"What do you suggest I do then?" asked Jayko. "I have no intention of just sitting back and doing nothing."

Elbadar was a bit surprised. This was a different Jayko he was talking to. He didn't really know the younger man to begin with, but something seemed different.

"Well, I suppose you could look for financial aid, to help raise an army of your own," he said, "but I doubt you'll get any such help. Quorandis is going to be tightening his family purse-strings for quite a while. It's quite the expensive endeavour, this wedding.

"I've got a question, though. How prepared are you to regain your titles, Sir Jayko? Are you skilled in leading men? Can you hold your own in a battle? What do you know about public relations? What skills can you bring to your people? It's all very well to want to help them, but what good can you be?"

Jayko thought about it for a few moments.

"I suppose that what you're getting at is that I should spend my time training myself to take over from Sir Jayson," he said.

"Exactly! Jayson is successful as baron because he has the skills to lead the army, and enough political skill to manipulate the local merchants. To challenge him, you need to acquire some of the same skills."

"Where could I learn those sorts of skills?" asked Jayko. "In the army?"

"Perhaps," said Elbadar. "Certainly, military service would be a good idea, but I wouldn't recommend any military. If you can, get a place in the Cavaliers. There isn't a finer military around, and even the lowest ranks are well-treated, well-paid, and well-trained."

"It's pretty hard to get into them, though," said Jayko. "You need to have some pretty good experience, or else patronage."

"That's where our good friend Commander-General Quorandis comes in," said Elbadar. "You came here looking for help from him. Well, that's where he can help you."

"It would get you out of his hair completely," said Elbadar, not mincing words. "Seeing as you'd be posted to various training companies in Orion and the mainland provinces for some time, and most likely posted to one of the companies up there that needs to be rebuilt since the war. Besides, I think he feels that he owes you a bit."

"What on earth for???"

"Well, you were the Old Man's companion, while he helped the Sorceror-king," said Elbadar, "and he feels a little guilty for that. Also, although you might have kidnapped Elwen and all that, during the time in the Old Ruins, you played a pretty important role, not only in saving her life, but in defeating the Sorceror-king.

"Not to worry, Jayko, I think Quorandis will be glad to help you."

The only thing, Jayko thought, was how much did he WANT Quorandis' help. Then he remembered his oath to Kent. He wanted everybody's help.

Ciroal panicked. She swiftly felt around for the knife concealed at her belt. Maybe they hadn't taken it...

"You see, Ciroal.." continued the old man, his back towards her, "We've thought long and hard what to do about you. Sharpfang wanted to gut you on sight. Snakebite wanted to feed you to the wolves. However, our leader, Darrath Foxhound, gave the desicion to me."

"I knew your father, Ciroal. He was a dark and troubled man. It's no surprise that his children followed a similar path." the old man said, his back still turned, "He too tried to grab the throne, and he too made dark pacts. But even before that time, he had a dark beast on his back."

Ciroal grasped the knife and tensed her muscles in preparation to leap at the old man's unprotected back.

"It has been said the Grimtongue family was cursed from its beginings. Perhaps this is true, perhaps not." the old man stated, seemingly oblivious to the enraged woman about to stab him in the back. "Whatever the case, your family has some sort of demonic blood in it. A rather powerful demon patron to wolves, it is said. Apparently you have some sort of bloodlust within your family. From personal experience, I'd say this is quite true."

Ciroal leaped from the bed at the old man, her dagger brandished high above her head.

Ciroal was flung back towards the wall. She flew through the air towards the wall. She felt her head cracked against the rock. As she slowly slid down the side of the wall, she saw the old man's formerly dark eyes glow blazing red. And then she blacked out...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She came to a few minutes later. This time only the old man was there. His eyes looked sad, and he had evidently been crying.

"Who are you, foolish old man?!" Ciroal hissed. She had been tied down quite securely.

"I am..." he started. "Well, perhaps we shouldn't get into that just yet. For now, you can call me Methalor, the Sage of Three Daggers."

"A Wolfpack druid." Ciroal sneered. "How quaint."

"Less a druid, more a sorceror." the Sage replied.

"Same thing." she sneered again. "Now will you answer my question, or go on with your senile ramblings all day. You look old enough to be my dead grandfather!"

"Closer to great-grandfather." he said quitely, a twinge of sorrow apparent in his voice.

"What was that?!" she snapped in reply.

"Perhaps you should rest." he said quitely. He got up and made for the door.

"Wait!" she cried. "Who are you?!"

The old man opened the door. He looked at her squarely in the eyes. This time it was evident he was holding back tears.

"Methalor Grimtongue, brother to your Great-Grandfather."

He left the room and quietly closed the door behind him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The old man, Methalor, quietly went to his room. Waiting there was the captain of the small group, Darrath.

"Did you speak with her?" he asked.

"Yes." replied Methalor, still holding back his tears.

"Did you tell here everything?" Darrath inquired.

"No." said Methalor, on the verge of crying. Calming himself down, he continued. "Now is no time for my personal issues. I have talked with the spirits of the forests, and they had much to tell me. But one thing in particular is important. They say that a man travels alone, even now, to Daggerfall Spire, to Varras. They say this is a man of great inner strength, perhaps fated to right some of these wrongs. But Varras will surely be aware of this man's coming as well, and without distraction he could very well fail."

“Themselves.” said Bjarn, “For months violent Wolfpack clans have battled among themselves, each trying to claw their way to the Wolfpack throne. Willem Blackcloak and his followers have fled. The Classic Emperor has ordered a complete lockdown of the area. In compliance, I’ve ordered the sealing of the Forestmen borders. Queen Arabella of the Dark Forest has down the same for her land.”

Bjarn chuckled. “You better get another bowl of soup, Dractor. It seems I’ve got a lot to update you on…”

After two more bowls of soup, another loaf of bread and an hour later,

Formendacil wrote:Sir Dractor and Bjarn, armed with longbows and full quivers, clad in green and brown, had gone hunting in the forest. Well, it was more like a long walk, to catch up on things, but while they were at it, they figured they might as well have a go. It had been Sir Dractor's suggestion: Gonderin had mentioned at dinner that Bjarn had been spending most of his days in his study, energetically scribbling away his memoirs. His loyal elven lieutenant felt that he needed to get out and breathe some fresh air. And what was more typical of a Forestman than a causal walk through the forest?

"A lot has happened in less than two months," said Sir Dractor as they went along, shaking his head. "Reno and Shainya married. I saw it coming, but so fast! I should send them a present…”

Bjarn smiled. “Fast, indeed. But not too fast, not at all. They have blossomed in the last few months, both glowing with love for one another. It brings a smile to my face just thinking of them.”

“Reno’s been a son to you, and Shainya a daughter.” Sir Dractor noted, “They both love you like a father. It is only appropriate that you should feel their love.”

Bjarn nodded, and said after a pause, “You need not send them a present. Let us visit them in a day or so.”

“I would like that.” said Sir Dractor.

Bjarn bent and examined a hoof print in the mud, then a bruised leaf.

“This way.” he motioned.

They changed direction and began to walk along a trickling stream.

“Where did Aros and Luxus go?” Sir Dractor asked after a moment.

Formendacil wrote:"They pretty much just took off, without any real destination," said Bjarn. "I imagine we'll see them again someday, but who knows when. They both have wanderlust pretty bad- not unlike you."

"I'll admit my feet itch for travel every now and then," said Sir Dractor. "But it's more action that I tend to crave- doing something useful. As a general rule, I don't do that too well in a single location."

"So what do you plan to do now?" asked Bjarn. "You don't intend to go back to your homeland, I take it?"

"No," said Sir Dractor. "I think I'll stay in Dametreos for life. As for the immediate future, I need a new suit of armor. When we get back to the Keep, I should show you what happened to it. It's quite the sight, and it makes you wonder how on earth I survived."

"It can't be repaired, I assume?" asked Bjarn.

"It wouldn't be worthwhile," said Sir Dractor. "It would take more effort than a new suit, and probably wouldn't be as good of quality. That's how bad it was."

"Well, talk to Roderick," said Bjarn, "I'm sure he'll be glad to help you. I'm guessing you also need a new sword as well?"

"Aye," said Sir Dractor, and was about to go on, but he caught sight of a small herd of deer off in the trees, and quickly raised his bow, firing the arrow. It struck one of the deer, which stumbled off. The other deer fled before Bjarn managed to fire at them. Sir Dractor and Bjarn followed the dying deer at a leisurely pace.

"That was a pretty fine shot, my friend," said Bjarn. "And at a considerable distance too. I thought you said that you weren't all that good at archery?

"I remember quite distinctly that you said your skill with a bow was not all that good. Were you lying?"

"No," said Sir Dractor with a smile, "but you weren't looking at it from quite the right angle. I am a master warrior: my skills with sword, lance, axe, mace, spear, and so forth, are about as good as you can get. By comparison, my archery skill is merely good. I have good aim and a quick draw, but I am no better than the average Dark Forester, and not quite up to the average Forestman. Certainly, you are a better shot than me. So, compared with my other skills, my archery talents are mediocre."

"You do yourself an injustice, my friend," said Bjarn, as the reached the dying deer. Sir Dractor bent down to cut its throat. "That was a fine shot, and you'd be accepted into a Forestmen company without a problem, although just barely. You have fine skills in war, my friend; am I right in thinking that it is all you have done?"

As he finished killing the deer, and silently thanking it for its gift, Sir Dractor replied. "All my life I have been a warrior. I have spent my energies on fighting and improving my skills at it. My homeland has been in conflict for years, and there was never an opportunity to do anything else. I displayed aptitude, and learned the skills, and have had ample opportunity to practice. But outside of battle and its related pursuits, I have very little."

"Do you ever wish you had more?" asked Bjarn.

"Yes," said Sir Dractor, thinking about his brother and his family. "I wish I could have done more, could have been more. But the path I chose was necessary, and I don't regret its fruits. Only its failings."

"Well, you are free from that path now," said Bjarn.

“I’m not sure if I want to be free from that path. I’m a warrior. Warrior’s battle. When there’s no battle, I feel so useless.” said Sir Dractor.

“Remember after the BloodVaine war, when you returned to Drullen Bell?” asked Bjarn, “From that point until we set out for Orion questing for the Temple Of Lost Stars, you had no battle. But you still did much good, and put your skills to good work. You helped rebuild the Forestmen army. You trained countless men, raising the skills of all the enlisted. You, in particular, improved every Forestman’s and woman’s skill with the sword. You helped pass on you skills to others. A warrior can use his skills to battle, but he also use his skills to train. Now that there are no battle for you to fight, you can do whatever you want, be whoever you want.”

Formendacil wrote:“There is no longer a war,” said Bjarn. "Perhaps it's time to find another use for those skills. There are always good people in need of defending and saving. From what I have seen of you, my friend, you might be a warrior, and a tyco good one too, but you are no killer."

"I have never wanted to be, but every warrior at times is a killer," said Sir Dractor, rather regretfully. "And that is never really going to change.”

“Sometimes…” Sir Dractor continued, “I wish…I wish I had taken a different path. Not of the warrior, but of someone else. Something not of killing. Remember Hans Lentawl?”

“Of course.” Bjarn smiled at the thought of the young LEGOlander scholar with the strange accent.

“He told me he’s never held a blade in his life, and he’s sixteen years of age. When I was seven, I had killed my first squirrel with my father’s knife.”

“I shot my first deer at age ten.” said Bjarn slowly, “I shot my first man a year later.”

Bjarn looked at Sir Dractor intently. “I chose the path of the warrior, like you. Sometimes, like you, I wish I had chosen a different path. But there’s no looking back. I became a warrior. Do I regret that choice? I do not know. Would have J’anrya married me if I was a farmer, or a woodsman, or a scholar? Perhaps. Would I have become the Elk Man? Perhaps not. But I became a warrior, and here I am. For the most part, I am satisfied. I’ve gone full circle. For all my life, I was battling someone, whether it was Green Fox, the Crusaders, the Royals, the Black Falcons, pirates, or BloodVaine’s minions. Now, that is over. My fighting days are over. My days of killing are over. Now, I hope, my days of helping have began.”

“Perhaps you are right, there are always people in need of help. Perhaps I can find my calling helping people, not hurting them.” said Sir Dractor

Formendacil wrote:"I hope so," said Bjarn, "but I think that you already help people, although hurting others at the same time. Your aid was very important to us during the war, and during the Lost Stars quest, we did little battling, and much helping. And from what you've said, I think that you did a lot of good helping your sorcerer friend.

"But let's not worry about this for the moment! You're on holidays, and I intend to see that you enjoy yourself! Besides, I'm going to get you to transport that fine quarry of yours back to the Keep. My old back will be little assistance."

"You're no older than I," said Sir Dractor. "Or not by much."

"Perhaps, but I haven't taken as good of care as myself," said Bjarn. "And I wasn't blessed with your great poundage of muscles. The fates saw fit to give me a more slender build. And I have no intention of throwing out my back so soon after Daner fixed it- and everything else. I want to be whole and spry for many long years yet."

"Don't we all?" said Sir Dractor, heaving the dead beast off the ground. "Let's go straight back to the keep, shall we? I don't particularly feel like detouring with this stinky, heavy weight on my shoulders."

With a laugh, the more wood-wise Bjarn led the way back to Drullen Bell.

They soon were back at the great Forestman fortress, and they made their way to the kitchens, where Sir Dractor handed over to the chefs to manage. As Sir Dractor and Bjarn exited the kitchens, they were met by the elf Gonderin, Bjarn’s second-in-command.

Bjarn thanked Gonderin and ripped the envelope open. He unfolded the sheet of parchment, scanned the contents, then broke into a smile.

“Who’s it from?” Sir Dractor asked.

“The Lone Falcon. You haven’t met him, but I have. He’s the leader of the Rebel Resistance, a group of Black Falcons and Bulls bent of overthrowing the current Black Falcon regime. And it seems they’ve succeeded.”

Gonderin raised his eyebrows. “Indeed? This is good tidings.”

Bjarn nodded. “Barbod must be extremely happy at this moment. The Bulls have completely regained their land. The Forestmen have new neighbors!”

Bjarn shook his head, rereading the letter. “This is stunning…my old friends Graygon and Willem Blackcloak have been located…and…Drakko! Drakko’s now the Prime Minister of the Black Falcons!”

“It seems many of the Misfits had a part to play in this Black Falcon overthrow.” noted Sir Dractor.

“Indeed.” said Bjarn, “I’m still trying to soak it all in…Graygon’s the next in line for the Black Falcon throne!”

“King Graygon? I can’t see it.” said Gonderin wryly and quite uncharacteristically.

“You won’t be.” said Bjarn, “Graygon has refused the throne. He’s also said that his mother might be willing to take the throne.”

TheOrk wrote:“Good shot…” He gasped. Valric lowered his sword wearily.“Stop Pythos…….Castle Dracul…..before it’s……too……..late.” Weigraf loosened his grip on the side of the well, the black suit of armour soon vanished in it’s dark depthes.

Valric nodded to a fallen Legolander and limped away to help Theodore…

Grid: G-8
Location: The battleground on the outskirts of Arral

Theodore was soon up, and despite a large lump on his head and a large bruise on his left leg, he was all right. The same could not be said for his men. Seven men were left out twelve and those that were alive were not in to good of shape.

After bandaging themselves, Theodore and Valric went to the hamlet and got help. Of the seven remaining, four, apart from twisted ankles and bruises, were okay. They had only been blown away. One man, was severely cut in his chest, but was expected to live. One man was quite fine except for the fact that his visor was bent in such a way that his helmet wouldn't come off. Another man had lost an arm, but would be all right.

"That," said Theodore as he finished the last grave of the five dead men. "Was tough. What happened after I blacked out?"

"I'll tell you on the road back home." Replied Valric. He then buried Weigraf by himself and out of view of the others.

On the journey back to Castleton, Theodore commented, "I see you got your sword back."

"Yes," replied the other knight. "I am quite glad to have it back. I fight much better with it."

"Well if you defeated that creature, and this makes you fight even better, I wouldn't want to take you on."

Valric laughed. After a few minutes he told Theodore about what had happened. When he was finished, Theodore asked, "so what do you intend to do now?"

Dragoman wrote:Grid: S-1Location: SolitaireWith out resting a moment he began: “let’s start a fire and setup camp, we will stay here for the night and at dusk I’ll lead a group to survey the land."

At first light of the next morning Theron gathered together a party of twenty four which he then decided to split up equally in to three groups. The first group lead by Jedrek was to scout the west half of the island while the second group lead by Arthus the east half. Theron then took the third group to accompany him down the center, through the pine forest and up the mountain at the middle of the island where a bird’s eye view of the terrain could hopefully be achieved. The rest of the Shadow Knights were left under the command of Hugh and was ordered to guard the base camp and the Mauler, salvage whatever they could from the Courtest and tend to the wounded who had survived its crash.

When the three parties left, Hugh wasted no time in getting started. “This is going to be tough to do with only sixteen Shadow Knights.” He muttered. “Well men” he then said “let’s get started.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was now Late-morning and Theron had been climbing for close to five hours with his party not far behind. While making he way he began to realize that they had not run in to any trouble since the confrontation with the kraken.

"Could it be" thinking Theron jokingly "That all these legends about this place were solely based on one over territorial kraken."

Theron knew however this was wishful thinking. He knew that if nothing else, what he was sent here to deal with was in deed real and that alone made him anxious.

When he had reached the top of the mountain, he found that the mountain was in fact a dormant volcano and it looked like it had been that way for some time. Theron didn’t pay to much attention to this though and instead started to survey the land around him.

When the rest of his party was just catching up with him, Theron noticed something in the distance, something that gave him a simultaneous feeling of surprise and anger. He then stormed past his now exhausted men while saying irately yet somehow evenly: “We have to get back to camp!” and with out getting a moments rest they followed wearily behind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jedrek’s party had been moving for a about seven miles now and were currently going through a large meadow.

While they were still moving Jedrek began thinking about recent events and the reasons why he and the others had come to the island. He knew that no other man with him had known their full purposes in coming; they were only promised glory and riches and a chance to great things for the Shadow Knight people, and for a Shadow Knight that was everything. Jedrek however along with Rendor had been more informed about their current porpoises on the island when Theron personally came to them back at Willensstark.

Jedrek had furthermore been thinking about the kraken that Theron had slain. From what he had seen (which wasn’t much) it appeared the beast to be a bit small to be capable of totally submerging an entire ship and then throwing another so far through the air. He had also wondered what other kinds of terrors they might find lurking in the dark places of the island.

“Sir!” said a knight interrupting Jedreks thoughts.

“What is it solider?” he responding.

“There, in those trees.”

When Jedrek looked where the knight was pointing he saw over a dozen pairs of menacing red eyes of large wolves peering out at him from within the shadows under the trees far beside him.

Blood wolves!? He realized. “Draw swords!” He then commanded, not wasting any time.

With that the wolves dashed towards them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Theron had returned to the camp he found the mangled Bodies of his fallen Shadow Knights lying dead throughout the now torn down camp. Theron then saw that the Mauler had been crushed right down the middle. In addition he noticed that the carcass of the dead kraken which had been lying on the beach partially beneath the waters surface was gone.

“I should’ve known” he stated

One of the Shadow Knight had began doing a head count of the dead.
“Sir! A knight said realizing the number of the recently expired” not all of the men that we left behind are here, some could have escaped”

But Theron didn’t answer; he just stood there staring out in to the sea thinking: "I should’ve known”

While looking at the dead bodies littered on the sand another Shadow Knight asked “what could have done this?”

And to that Theron did reply “isn’t it obvious.” stating plainly. ”It was the kraken”

“But my lord” said another surprised by Theron’s words “how can this be, you extinguished that devilish beast, I saw its remains lying on the beach front.”

“I did in deed kill that particular kraken” he replied. “But that wasn’t the kraken of which I speak, that was just its offspring. Then taking a more somber tone said “it seems I’ve made dear old mother mad.”

Last edited by Dragoman on Thu May 12, 2005 7:43 pm, edited 5 times in total.

Lord_Of_The_LEGO wrote:Ajaxx continued, “Men of the Dragonsbane Brigade! The dawn is upon us! MOVE OUT!”

There was another cheer, and then the recruits quickly formed themselves into ranks, save those assigned to the wagons. Captains Darvack and Jeckel, along with several others of higher and equal ranks, began shouting further orders. The Dragonsbane Brigade, with all it’s soldiers, officers, supply wagons and domestic animals, turned it’s steps toward the coast.

Grid: C-17
Location: Port Gordlan-Gordule

As the red sun faded and the starry night swept over the dome of the sky, the bustling port city of Gordlan-Gordule was sighted by the advance scouts of the Dragonsbane Brigade.

There was a lively cheer and the soldiers surged forward, prodded by thirst for beer and lust for comely female companionship. Within the next half-hour the Dragonsbane Brigade in it’s entirety was holed up in Gordlan-Gordule’s inns, either in the bars or the rooms above. Ajaxx Dragonsbane was in one of the rooms, but he was alone. He desired nothing a woman could give him. He sought ships. But first, sleep.

The next morning, while the recruits slept off their hangovers, Ajaxx Dragonsbane, accompanied by Japheth, went ship-hunting. Being a port city, and a major one at that, Gordlan-Gordule was jammed full of ships for hire and sale, from single-masted sloops to barnacle-crusted brigs. There were merchant vessels , war galleys , cargo ships, pleasure yachts, fishermen boats, even some slavers. Ajaxx passed over these, some hesitatingly, some with distain, searching for the one ship that caught his eye. It took him half the day, but at last, he found her. The Precious. Ajaxx was not a sailorman himself, but he knew a good ship when he saw one. And he saw it in the Precious.

She was, simply stated, a beauty. She was all curving lines, from her sharp bow to her rounded stern, she appeared to fly while even standing still. Her hull was painted white, with black masts and blue highlights on the guardrails. The figurehead was that of a pale nude woman. With slender arms outstretched, she appeared to almost tenderly hold up the bowsprit. The ship itself had three masts: fore, main and mizzen, and all were heavy with furled sails and draped in an array of rigging. There were also three decks, not counting the forecastle and poop deck. She was most definitely a merchant ship, for no ballistae-ports graced her sides, and her hull was wide. However, five ballistae did sit imposingly above deck: two on the quarterdeck, port and starboard, two on the main deck, port and starboard, and one on the poop deck, perched aft on the stern. She was a large and capable ship, but also armed and dangerous. The moment Ajaxx saw her, Ajaxx wanted her. The problem was, she was not for sale. At least, that was what the owner said.

As the Dragon Masters moved forward, Clive Baudelaire stepped sideways and blocked the gangplank.

“There be a problem, Mister Baudelaire?” asked Ajaxx.

“I…I will need to see some identification.”

Ajaxx, his eyes not straying from the flustered merchant, deftly slipped his hand into his satchel and produced a parchment. He handed it over to Clive Baudelaire, who examined it intently before returning it with an angry glare.

“Be all in order?” Ajaxx asked smoothly.

Clive Baudelaire stepped aside, rigid as a board. At once the ten Dragon Masters rushed forward and up the gangplank, spreading quickly into the Precious’s cargo holds. The Royal Knight crew of the ship stood and stared dumbly, not wanting to challenge the hulking Dragon Masters clad in thick armor. The ‘inspection’ was haphazard, but effective. Barrel’s were pried open, chests’ contents were spilled across the deck, and bundles were ripped open. It was not long before --

“My lord!”

A Dragon Master hailed Ajaxx Dragonsbane from the deck of the Precious. Ajaxx glanced at Clive Baudelaire and then ascended the gangplank. The Royal merchant and Japheth followed.

“Obviously.” smirked Ajaxx, “Planted and grown to the north no doubt, where ye must of snagged a ‘weed’ or two…”

“Never!” cried Clive Baudelaire, now deadly pale, “I’ve never done such a vile and illegal act!”

“Clive Baudelaire,” said Ajaxx formally, “Ye be under arrest for illegal transportation and concealment of a banned substance. As such, your vessel and all it’s cargo now belongs to the Dragon Master state until ye can prove your innocence, if there be any. Japheth, take ‘im away.”

“With pleasure, sir.”

“Dirty Dragon Master scum!” cried Clive Baudelaire as two Dragon Masters manhandled him down the gangplank, “You will hear from my solicitor!”

“I suspect so.” said Ajaxx mildly, the hint of a grin forming on his lips. He turned to the remaining eight Dragon Masters.

“Round up the crew of this vessel, dismiss them onshore, then secure the vessel.”

“Aye, sir!”

Ajaxx remained on ship as the Dragon Masters went about their orders. He was soon joined by Japheth.

“Mister Royal-pants be in the city jail now, Ajaxx.”

Ajaxx held up the handkerchief with the dried, crumbled plant piled on it.

“Very good. Pity, he seemed such an honest type.”

They both laughed. Japheth then quietly dumped the thyme on his handkerchief overboard. The masquerade had been simple, but quite effective. Ajaxx Dragonsbane now had a ship. And he hadn’t paid a coin for it.

Swift would've left the city four days ago, but he hadn't heard any news of Bane yet, but this morning, he had received a hopefull message of him: the native warriors were ready to fight.
Now, Swift stood in front of the Outcasted Ones, that were gathered on the large courtyard.

"Proud warriors of the Dark Forest, now is the time for vengeance, now is the time that you can revenge the fallen comrades of the 1st Fell War, now is the time to free your brothers of battle out of the deep dungeons of Daggerfall, now, this is OUR time, we must vanquish this evil out of these peacefull lands forgood. MARCH, TOWARDS DAGGERFALL!!!!"

His little speech was received by much roaring and shield-clattering of the soldiers. Large dark banners rose in the skies, bearing the claws of the Rogue Wolves, Swift's clan. A long line of heavily armed soldiers trampled out of the city, towards Daggerfall.
_______________

Grid: R-7
Loc. : Daggerfall Spire

Varras sat in his throne, a large cold, black stone throne. his white, old, wrinkled hands lay on the large leanings. His face was concealed under the shadows of his heavy black hood, but if you looked carefully, you could see his blazing red pupils in his white face, around his red eyes there were brown borders. Varras looked aged, but still, he was no enemy to be underestimated, all by him self he could handle the Tribune, the council of Mages that controlled all the warlocks of Dametreos. The Dark Magics of the World Core had torn his soul, he was now even more powerfull than ever before. Before him on a small column lay a large black ball: the Orb of Darkness. Varras glared deep in the ball and suddenly an immage appeared.

Hundreds of dark clad soldiers marched towards Daggerfall, approaching from the east, barbaric warriors, heavily armed marched with thousands to Daggerfall from the south. The sight of the west was clouded as the one of the north.

Varras stood up and went to the large balcony hanging out the Spire, high above the ground.
With a loud voice he started to shout:

"My loyal soldiers..."

Many shoutings came, but Varras stretched out his hand and all came silent again.

"...we have started to build a new nation, a grand nation, but alas, the native fools don't want to join us! THey are now heading towards here, they think that they can take this veste, but they are wrong, pick up your weapons, let the drums of war sound once again, one who wants to destroy us, shall only be welcomed on the tips of our swords!! Rejoice, brace the gates, guard the walls, no enemy is setting one foot in our fortress!!"

Again, many roarings erupted and stompings, drums were getting smacked by the drumsticks. In less than an hour, the entire city of Daggerfall was up and running, preparing to spill blood. All together there were more than ten-thousands of soldiers, heavily armored and heavily weaponed, steady behind their walls. Attacking the Spire would be pure suicide.

"Well, I agree that you'll need a new suit," said Rodurik, "because there is no way that is repairable."

"Can you do it?" asked Sir Dractor. "Have you got time to make a suit of armour?"

"Time, yes," said Rodurick, "but skill, no. I can make a breastplate, and a helm, and all the components well enough, but my work is not the best you will find, not by a long shot, nor is it particularly fine-looking. A warrior like you deserves better- needs better!"

"Whom do you recommend then?" asked Sir Dractor.

"Harold Brakespear," said Rodurik promptly. "He's without a doubt the best armoursmith alive."

"Where can I find him?" asked Sir Dractor.

"Well, that's supposed to be unknown," said Rodurik. "He retired nearly twenty years ago- he was the royal armoursmith in Port Crowne at the time. He disappeared- didn't want people bothering him. However..."

"However, what?"

"He left instructions with the Smiths' Guild in Crusader territory. As you may recall, I was one of the Denderham blacksmiths, the senior member of the local guild, in fact. As such, I know where Brakespear retired to."

"Should you be telling me this?" asked Sir Dractor.

"I wouldn't be the first one. Most of the senior guildsmen have sent one or two customers Brakespear's way. He's still the best there is- no one has really risen to take his place. He's the man for you, right enough."

"Very well then, if you're sure, where can I find this Harold Brakespear?" asked Sir Dractor.

"In the village of Hemmerington," replied Rodurik, his voice almost a whisper. "That's a village in the southeastern corner of the Fell Isle, in Dark Forest territory."

"Thank you, Rodurik," said Sir Dractor, "I'll look into that. Eventually. Bjarn and I have a visit planned to Reno and Shainya Regga, and I'm not in any particular hurry at the moment."

"You're welcome, Sir Dractor," replied Rodurik, who was now done his lunch. He set off back to the forge. Sir Dractor set off back to the kitchen, where he knew venison sausages were being prepared for supper.